


The Third Eye

by Houdini_the_Second



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 02:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houdini_the_Second/pseuds/Houdini_the_Second
Summary: A married couple now, Jeanne and Cereza have their first baby girl, who is nothing but amazing. They quickly learn that their daughter is more powerful than either of them could have ever anticipated.Brief one-shot. It may get updated with another chapter or two, but mostly, it's an idea I want to test run for a bigger fic. Bayo/Jeanne baby fic!





	The Third Eye

**Author's Note:**

> A brief, messy, one-shot that might later influence my, as of yet, incomplete Bayonetta series of fics. I wrote it on the fly and have done limited editing, so forgive any major mistakes. Honestly, this is more like a draft. 
> 
> I decided to experiment with it and write in the first person. In-game, Bayonetta’s observations are often delivered in first person, so I thought it would be interesting to approach a fic from that direction. Please let me know what you think, and if you would prefer first, third, or both in fics.
> 
> It may get updated with another chapter or two, but mostly, it's an idea I want to test run for a bigger fic.

# The Third Eye

* * *

 

 

### Before Everything: Cereza

“What about Rose?” Jeanne suggested. I shook my head. Jeanne was trying to appease to me with name suggestions. Her eyes flickered to my face for a fraction of a second before striking out “Rose” from the list of names she had amassed.

“Cherise?” She suggested, smirking.

“Isn’t that just my name in French?” Confusion and hurt flashed across her face.

We had spent the better part of the afternoon sorting through an array of names Jeanne had assembled. Most of them appealed to my sense of taste, which I loathed. I had rejected every single one so far; none of the aforementioned suggestions contained a drop of Jeanne’s character or opinion.

I knew why Jeanne was doing it. I was ballooned out with a baby, while she got off scotch free with some hormone surges and unexpected milk production. She thought it wasn’t fair.

“Love, I wish you’d have picked names you liked.”

“I do like these names!” She protested, eyebrows crumpling, “They remind me of you.”

I ignored her explanation. She was being generous, self-sacrificing, Jeanne, as usual. Underneath her sharp mouth, and hard eyes lay a women whose heart had been gilded in the finest gold.

I loved her, maybe more than myself.

“Point me to a name you like,” I commanded, “One you really like.”

She hesitated for a moment, before flipping to the back of the notepad she had scrawled the names on. My eyes glazed over the stranglers, left at the back of the pad to waste away. They suited Jeanne’s tastes perfectly.  

My heart ached. She had hidden her choices from my sight, opting to present me with all the picks she thought I would have loved.  

And she was right. Every single name she had chosen in my taste had filled me with glee. I had loved them.  

But I loved her too. And this baby was every bit a part of her and she was a part of me.

“Which is your favorite?” I demanded. She scoured the roll for a minute, tapping her pen against the glass face of our coffee table.

Finally.

“This one.”

“Vana?”

She nodded. “It’s a Norse name. I think it’s simple, pretty....buoyant.” 

“It’s perfect,” I responded, catching her eyes as they flashed to my face.

“It is?” Her mouth twisted and I could see the look of disbelief clearly defined on her face.

I nodded again, more enthused than before. Reaching out for her hand, I intertwined our fingers and leaned in to kiss her. Her mouth was soft and delicious. She moved in, deepening the kiss, before breaking away. 

“You’re sure?” She asked, glancing at the pad, “You’re sure you like that name?”

“If you like it, I love it.”

Simple. 

She smiled at me then, teeth glowing brilliantly, eyes bright like the stars. Her facade of smugness melted away to reveal a look full of love. I looked away, smoldering hotly underneath it. Only Jeanne could make me feel that way.

Eventually, we retreated to the apartment’s living room. Cardboard boxes littered the place, stacked neatly into two foot tall towers. We were moving.

Living in our snug apartment had been a pleasant and memorable experience. _Even_ with the addition of mummy, who had found herself revitalized after a complicated incident.

Mummy was, of course, more transient than the two of us. Sometimes, she would spend nights serving drinks at Rodin’s bar, flirting with young men, and crashing in the demonic proprietors second-floor apartment. Most nights though, she was happy to come home to our small family’s familiar dwelling.

Mummy’s official residence and the progress of Jeanne and I’s romance (to marriage) had marked the beginning of our permanent bedroom situation.

A situation that had eventually led to my pregnancy.

We had always known witches were capable of same sex reproduction. It was blood magic, implemented around the time of my mummy’s indoctrination into the Umbra witches.

And it had been a long time coming. While, according to mummy, many witches were perfectly comfortable in the skin of their sexuality, others longed to have children while omitting the need for men. 

So blood magic was invoked, and every witch, and all of their descendants, became capable of biological, same-sex, reproduction. Jeanne had been born from two mummies, and Rosa, Jeanne, and I were all just as capable of siring children as we were carrying them.

We had planned long and hard for this little one, and her future siblings. It was decided that I should be the first to carry (being negligibly older), but that Jeanne would carry the next one.

That meant moving. There was no way our two bedroom, two bathroom, apartment could have supported a budding family.

Jeanne had wanted to move out to Long Island, but the taxes and the distance from Manhattan had dissuaded both of us.

Not that Jeanne couldn’t afford it. In 600 years, she had established more businesses than imaginable and collected more money than believable. The famous clothing brand, D’Arc, belonged to her, as well as a popular makeup brand of the same name.

And mummy and I had naturally inherited Balder’s remaining fortune, as well as the Ithavoll Group. Miraculously, the Aesir-possessed Balder had still managed to list me as the sole inheritor of his business. Balancing checkbooks and maintaining corporate relations hadn’t come to either of us naturally, but Jeanne had guided us through the whole process. 

The last few months had involved multiple trips between New York, France, and Vigrid meant to secure our assets, and promote positive business relations.

Our combined wealth was well over a mere million. We were filthy, stinking rich.

I guess, if it was taxes that bothered us, maybe we were just stingy.

Even so, we had collectively settled on what was, essentially, a small mansion in Forest Hills, a wealthy little neighborhood in Queens. It’s relative proximity to Manhattan, beautiful semblance, safety rating, and local park had made for great motivating factors. It was the perfect place for 3 witches and a baby or two.

Speaking of that third witch...

Peeking over the backrest of the couch, I found mummy sunken comfortably into the worn crevices of Jeanne’s ancient sofa. A hushed snore drifted from her mouth, and she shifted as though intuitively disturbed by our lingering presence.

We settled down next to her, me lying against her, Jeanne lounging against me. My back ached. A small lump protruded from my abdomen where the baby inside me kicked. I cringed as the skin stretched, purpling out where the veins bulged against the pressure.

“She’s strong,” Jeanne observed in an inquisitive tone.

“Well, look at who her mothers are,” Rosa commented in a groggy voice, shaken awake by our fidgeting, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up being the most powerful witch of us all.”

That seemed to please Jeanne.

I smiled, drowsy now, and sunk deeper into the space between Jeanne and mummy. My already heavy lids drooped as Jeanne rubbed soothing circles onto my stomach, and mummy combed soft fingers through my hair.

Eventually, my eyelids shut, and I dreamed of nocturnal flower fields in Crescent Valley.

### Birth of a Princess: Jeanne

Her delivery had gone smoothly. In fact, _I_ had delivered her, with permission from our overseeing gyno, of course.

Birth is nothing like the movies. Natural, healthy birth, that is. There’s no bloodcurdling screaming, or futile straining. According to Cereza, it hadn’t even been all that painful, aside from the contractions.

“It was like taking the biggest shit of my life,” she had said. Rosa had laughed, but agreed.

She looked like us. Both of us. She had my pouty lips, and Cereza cute nose; her eyes were the shape of Cereza’s but ever so slightly downturned; and her arching eyebrows were mine in print. Both of us had gray eyes, so there were no surprises there, though hers were rather dark. Normal. They would brighten with time. And snowy white hair. My white hair.

She was beautiful.

The only thing that troubled me had been her skin color.

Well, troubled was a _strong_ word. I’m not a puritan, not like many of my fellow French. As much as I appreciate our culture, the prolific racism is abhorrent.

I’m also not a pureblooded French women. That culture and language was passed down from one side of my family. The other side had been Noatun-English mixed Umbran royalty. That’s the side my white hair comes from.

Of course, my last truly brown skinned Noatun ancestor had been a few generations back. Both my mothers, regardless of heritage, had been lily white.

Similarly, Cereza and Rosa, had, long ago, had a possibly, very powerful Noatun ancestor.

But again, hundreds of ancestors back.

So where this little one’s light olive complexion came from perplexed me. The tone was delicate, and pale, much lighter than even Loki, but still darker than the fair white of either my or Cereza’s skin. Light, but with a discernible difference, like the beginnings of a pleasant tan.

And the hair. A full head of hair. Certainly not a Caucasian thing.

“We _are_ part Noatun,” Rosa chimed. Obviously, her thoughts had strayed in the same direction as mine. We were pressed against the glass of the nursery, peering down at my swaddled daughter.

“Those ancestors were years ago, Rosa.”

“According to science, anything is possible,” she murmured, shrugging her shoulders, “And your white hair’s persevered over the years. I’m sure the genes for brown skin are still floating around in our DNA somewhere.”

“I suppose,” I muttered. Genetics were messy and confusing. And Umbran genetics were even more complex than the usual.

For instance, one genetic quirk, and a huge pro to Umbran same-sex reproduction, was milk production. Aside from the actual pregnancy, Umbran women who had procreated together shared similar developmental milestones. This meant that, for the duration of her pregnancy, both Cereza and I had experienced hormone influxes, and, conveniently, both started producing milk.

We theorized these changes functioned as a way to biologically encourage and bond Umbran same-sex families. I admit, I felt closer to my little one than I wager plenty of father’s felt upon birth. Almost as though I’d carried her myself.

Both of us had fed her in those first few minutes. The bonding experience was intense and hard to describe. I had been worried, at first. Online blogs had convinced me that there was a massive chance we’d feel nothing for her after her birth, or that we’d gradually grow to love her.

But we’d both loved her instantly.

“Are you alright, little one?” Rosa inquired.

_Little one_. That nickname had been passed from Rosa to Cereza, and I’d heard it more times than I could count.

Rosa had started treating me like a daughter, a while back, after what we believed to have been her revival at the hands of a power far greater than ours. “Little one,” had been byproduct of our developing relationship.

“I’m fine,” I said, offering her what I hoped was an enthusiastic smile.

A nurse was fiddling with Vana now. Collecting blood samples and testing her hearing. We waited, impatient and eager to retrieve our small, new family member.

Finished with her assessment, the nurse flashed me a toothy grin and a thumbs up, and we eagerly reclaimed the newest addition to the Umbra witches.

Wheeling her down the halls to Cereza’s room, her round eyes seemed to follow our every movement, darting around as the noise and flashy lights of the hospital overwhelmed her senses.

“She seems quite perceptive,” Rosa commented. Her voice, barely above a whisper, seemed to resonate some unspoken fear, or so I imagined.

We greeted Cereza with open smiles and warm embraces.

“I love you,” she whispered to me, “And you,” to Vana, “And you too, mummy.” Rosa snorted, rolling her eyes. Still, she leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Cereza forehead, to which Cereza seemed delighted. I aspired for our daughter to have the same relationship with us that the two of them shared.

I scooped Vana up from her bassinet, depositing her in Cereza’s waiting arms. 

She seemed to be looking at Cereza. Really, truly, _looking_. Not in the same way newborns absentmindedly stared. This was with purpose.

I tried not to let it bother me. If Rosa and Cereza had noticed, they said nothing. But as I settled down next to Cereza, l couldn’t help but be aware of our little daughter’s scrutinizing stare. Her gaze seemed to deliberately follow my face. I smiled, nervous.

And then, she smiled back. A devastatingly adorable, open mouthed, crinkle eyed, smile. Beside me, Cereza’s whole body tensed like the rigid edges of sliced diamond. Babies normally didn’t smile till nearly 2 months.

“It’s gas,” Rosa stuttered unconvincingly, flinching as Vana’s watchful eyes glanced in her direction.

We could feel it. All of us. The pull of magic stronger than anything we’d ever felt, spiraling around the tiny bundle cradled in Cereza’s arms.

Her concentration seemed to break, and her head turned to snuggle into Cereza’s breast. Her mouth puckered into a perfect ‘o’, and her tongue pushed out demandingly.

“She’s hungry?” Cereza asked, and we both turned to look at Rosa, who nodded. My shoulders sagged, and I could feel the anxiety drain from Cereza’s body.

At least _some_ things were normal.

### Family: Cereza

It had been only 3 days since Vana’s birth. Physically, she seemed perfectly normal. A bit small, but normal. Behaviorally, she was almost average. _Almost_.

Some things had thrown us off. The smiling, for one. The immense magical aura, for another.

Mummy was convinced it had something to do with the eyes. Jeanne thought much the same. I tried not to think about it too much.

Our family would never be normal. That, I’d known from since before her birth. But something about our little baby suggested she was more than the typical Umbran child.

Her skin had browned a bit more. Nothing drastic, but still an unusual tone considering Jeanne and I’s complexions. Our Noatun genes.

Jeanne was breastfeeding her on the couch, eyes full of love. She cooed down at her, and the baby smiled in return, dribbling milk down her Tinkerbell bib.

“You know,” I said, and my wife’s head snapped up, “She’s already starting to do that thing you do.”

My eyebrows pulled down in a hard line, and I stared at Jeanne in imitation.

“That thing…?” She asked, trailing off.

I looked angrier.

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“You mean she’s developing an intense case of resting bitch face?”

I nodded.

“When Rodin came by today, she made that exact face at him. But I think she quite likes him,” I said.

“Did he say anything?” She pried, almost unwilling.

“He did,” I admitted, “He’s taken mummy to dig up some very old texts he’s had preserved since the days of the clans. He says we’ll be interested in reading them.”

I curled up next to Jeanne. We were exhausted. Taking care of a baby was hard work. She needed to be fed every three to four hours. We had been seriously losing sleep. Mummy had been a lifesaver; she’d spent the last three days preparing our meals, and bottle feeding Vana when either Jeanne or myself had fallen asleep.

Not too much bottle feeding, since the baby fussed with it. But enough that it helped the two of us.

“You know, I love you,” I said, kissing the side of Jeanne’s forehead.

“I love you, too,” she replied, and she leaned into me, fitting her body perfectly to mine. Vana squirmed in protest as Jeanne adjusted her feeding position, but settled quickly.

I loved my family. I loved my mother, my wife, my daughter.

My life had flipped completely from what it had been over 20 years ago. Twenty years ago, I had been lost and reckless. Now, I felt right at home, surrounded by my family.

“Your mother is my hero,” Jeanne murmured, burping Vana. She passed her off to me, and I began breastfeeding. Usually, babies only had one mother to feed from. Vana was lucky. Her eyelids dropped, and little grunts of contentment escaped her lips as she suckled.

“Why’s she your hero?” I inquired.

“Cereza, she’s done so much for us.”

“Because she loves us.”

“I didn’t realize how deep the love ran,” Jeanne admitted, and I knew she was talking about the relationship between herself and mummy. .

At first, mummy’s return had been hard on Jeanne. She had felt like an outsider to our family. She had cried to me about one day, lamenting about the fact that she felt like she would lose me to Rosa and be alone again. I had cried to. It was difficult to see Jeanne in that state. But they’d come to love each other, and mummy treated Jeanne like another daughter now.

Jeanne ran a hand through my hair, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the contact. Then she kissed Vana’s forehead. The baby smiled again, leaking milk onto my clothes.  

“Messy girl,” I cooed. More smiling. More leaking. Jeanne snickered and sopped the milk up with a pink baby rag. Vana’s eyes oscillated between Jeanne and I. One of her tiny hands reached for Jeanne’s, and Jeanne allowed her to grasp her finger, resting the rest of her palm along the baby’s side. She seemed most content when both of us were touching her.

“She’s very, very aware,” Jeanne commented. I nodded in silent agreement.

“She’s also very dexterous, for a newborn,” she continued. I nodded more. This was true. Normal 3-day olds didn’t reach for things. Vana did.   

“But you don’t like to think about it,” Jeanne whispered. I just kept on nodding.

“Me either,” she agreed.

“I want her to be normal Jeanne,” I said, hearing the desperation in my own voice, “I want her to be happy. I don’t want her to have a faith like mine.”

“You turned out alright, though,” Jeanne ventured.

“But I struggled, a lot." 

_So did Jeanne_ , a voice in the back of my head reminded me. That was right.

Jeanne had struggled. She had struggled with the clan’s expectations, then suffered alone for 500 years. While comparing suffering is, generally, a bad idea, I could admit that my wife had been through a lot, too. _And a lot of it was for me and the clan_ , I reminded myself. Sweet, self-sacrificial Jeanne.

And like me, Jeanne had turned out alright, too.  

“We’ll be there for her,” Jeanne murmured, “We’ll protect her.” 

“We will,” I conceded.

It was a few hours before mummy returned. When she did, she came alone and frantic, dragging with her a library’s worth of information.  

“I think you girls are going to need to sit down for this one.”

### Creation

_Long ago, there was_ **_nothing_ ** _._

_Its reach was vast, sprawling. Its white, bleak grasp never ended._ **_Nothing_ ** _was forever._

_In its vast, sprawling reach,_ **_nothing_ ** _was empty. Its blinding light consumed the unseeable. Things that could not be heard whispered unspeakingly. And things that could not be seen subsided in invisibility._

_The fabric of its existence wreathed in agony._ ** _Nothing_** _felt lonely._  

_Pushing against the force of its own girth,_ ** _nothing_** _began to take shape. It molded the cloth of its blank spaces, forming shapes, sounds, and feelings. With great effort, it compressed itself into one being, swallowed by the darkness its light had kept at bay._  

**_Nothing_ ** _became something. Thoughts and emotions flowed from its body. It refined itself, creating things with which to see, hear, and speak with. With these basic orifices, that which had not existed before was brought to life._

_It called itself_ _god._

_Nothingness persisted around god, but it was different from before. Inky, blackness enveloped god, taunting it. God could not see in the blackness, and it felt fear for the first time._

_Tearing one of its three eyes out, god dispersed its remains across the black. From this eye, the stars were born._

_Content with the light, god then tore the tips of its long fifth fingers off. Crushing these, it scattered them through the space, creating meteors, asteroids, moons, and planets._

_God’s remaining digits became dwarfed by its eight other, long fingers, but with these remaining stubs, god began to shape the world. It gave planets features and names, and populated them with pricks of its skin._

_God watched with delight as these pricks changed. Some turned first into animals, and then into people. Others became dark, glowering demons. And still others shone bright like god’s original form, becoming the angels. God loved the creatures, which looked like parts of itself._

_Still, god felt lonely. Its creations could not see or feel it. It was still too vast, too impossible to comprehend._

_God began to become jealous of the animals, people, demons, and angels. Like it, they too developed thoughts and feelings. They became beautiful. Though they came from god, god looked at them and wished to be like them._

_God thought for a long while. It wanted the rich, brown skin of the humans, the sharp, black claws of the demons, the iridescent, gold shells of the angels._

_God had all of these things. Yet it continued to wish for them._

_Finally, god came upon a solution. Digging into its impenetrable skin, god tore itself into three beings: Aesir, Vanir, and Jubileus. It shaped them in the image of man and woman and set them onto the world, ceasing to be._

_These three siblings descended into the realm of creations._

_Jubileus the Creator, with god’s joyful spirit, became a harbinger of wealth and happiness._

_Vanir who had been blessed with god’s third, reformed eye, was tender and caring, and became a sign of fertility and love._

_And brooding Aesir, holder of the remaining eyes, who was calm and calculated, became a representation of power and society._

_The siblings, Aesir and Vanir, settled on the mountains of the Noatun people together. There, Vanir blessed many of the people who prayed to her for fertility with her own offspring._

_One-sided animosity developed between Aesir and his sister. God had given Vanir physical glory and fertility, and she was gorgeous. Aesir hated the ways in which the people worshiped beautiful Vanir. He envied her appearance, though they were practically the same being._

_Aesir had inherited god’s blind desires. As god had all the features of its creations, Aesir too had all the features of his sister. They shared ice-blue eyes, brown skin, and stark white hair._

_And yet Aesir yearned for these very same things and more. He wanted her femininity and her sexual appeal. He wanted her beautiful, long eyelashes, and her full, plump lips. He wanted these things, not for himself, but as himself._

_Aesir hatched a plan to absorb Vanir’s essence. First, he subdued Jubileus so she could not come to her sister’s aid. Then, while the goddess was sleeping, he pounced on her. He stabbed her through her forehead, and he through his own. The essence of their power exploded from their bodies, mingling together._

_This began the Armageddon._

_For a brief moment in history, a being more beautiful than any god existed. The people worshipped this androgynous being, awed by its appearance and prowess._

_It went unnamed._

_Vanir’s power and love for the people pulsed under this being’s skin. As the being that was somewhat Aesir admired itself, Vanir, with immense effort, pried herself from Aesir. She took with her all the eyes, leaving him an almost human shell of magic._

_She was weak from the struggle, and could not last forever._

_Frightened by the greed in his heart, she remembered god’s love for the people, and bestowed the three eyes onto them, promising to be reborn into their numbers._

_This infuriated Aesir. He hunted Vanir, and when he found her, they engaged in an epic, magical duel. The mountain Fimbulventr shook violently under their strength, struggling to hold the world together. Without the three gods, the world would be unable to keep itself in unity._

_Aesir cursed Vanir, rebinding her essence to his so that she could not be reborn so long as he lived. Before she perished, Vanir used her last breath to split Aesir, turning him into the children Loki and Loptr, and hoping one could find the heart to set things right._

_Then Vanir passed from the world, and with her disappearance, the realms split into three._

### Mothers of God

“A god,” Jeanne scoffed disbelievingly.

“A _god_ ,” she repeated, shaking her head. We were all bent over Vana’s crib. She watched us with smart eyes, then smiled that beautiful, cute smile again.

“It makes sense,” Rosa drawled, though I could tell she was worried, “Cereza carried the blood of the right eye and the power of the left. Whatever essence of Vanir that existed in the world must have been in her. And then both of you are descendents of the Noatun. I’m sure she felt right at home choosing the two of you as her parents.”

“A god,” I echoed Jeanne, resting my head on her shoulder, “A tiny, cute little god. With a third eye.” I poked Vana’s forehead, eliciting another bashful smile. Her small hand grasped my finger in a vice grip, and her mouth began working, sucking on air. I scooped her up and popped a breast out of my shirt, letting her latch on. Jeanne stroked her white hair, smiling tenderly.

We migrated to the couch, Jeanne on one side of me, mummy on the other. I slouched into my mother, and Jeanne cuddled into me.

“What made you pick the name, Jeanne?” Rosa asked.

“I thought it was cute,” she shrugged.

“It still is,” I agreed.

There would be plenty to do. Undoubtedly, this little one’s faith would be riddled with challenges. But for now, she was a bouncing, happy baby girl with a bright future ahead of her, and three women who already loved her deeply. She would have plenty to fix; the worlds as they were now were in shambles. But that could wait. Right now, she had time to just be a baby.

Welcome back to the world, Vanir.


End file.
